


Past Lives

by thehazeleyedgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Black Family, Death Eaters, First War with Voldemort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Death Eaters, Lestrange Family, Marauders' Era, Sacred-Twenty-Eight, Slow Burn, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehazeleyedgirl/pseuds/thehazeleyedgirl
Summary: They hated each other - at first - a toxic combination of pride, hasty judgments, and harsh tongues. Yet love can find a way, even in the darkest of times. Love doesn't guarantee a happy ending, though. A story of Rabastan Lestrange and Eleanor Fairfax, including cameos from Pureblood society.





	1. so it begins

_Past lives couldn't ever hold me down_  
_Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found_  
_I've got the strangest feeling_  
_This isn't our first time around_

_Past Lives_ by **BØRNS**

 

"One of the Lestrange boys would be an ideal match," a female said, her shrill voice echoing up the rafters until it met the ears of a very intrigued young girl who was up far best her bedtime. Eavesdropping was not a 'lady-like' habit, her mother would say. If her parents didn't want her listening on conversations, though, they ought to tell their guests to whisper. It wasn't as if she was using magic to listen, it was the architecture of their home that made it so simple.

"Yes, I agree. Though their younger son, not quite his brother," followed the voice of another gossiping mother.

"His mother must be devastated -- though at least they were both placed in Slytherin, unlike the elder Black boy." 

"Yes, indeed, a small salvation."

"Have you seen Walburga's family tree?"

"No, I've never been invited to the Black Mansion. I presume you have?"

"Yes, once. A ghastly piece of artwork; more holes in it than Walburga cares to acknowledge." The statement was followed by a slew of giggles that signaled the end of the conversation, as the women moved away from their alcove, their voices lost in the din of the party.

Rocking back onto her heels, Eleanor lifted herself up from the floor and moved backward against the wall, into the shadows. A house-elf turned the corner at that moment and looked at her, half-shrieking with surprise at seeing it's young mistress still awake. Before she could command it to remain silent, it scurried off down the servant's corridor toward the kitchen. With a sullen shake of her head, she turned back into her bedroom and shut the door with a click. Everything was dark, though she'd left the curtains open and a sliver of moonlight cast an eerie glow on her belongings.

Books were strewn across the floor, accompanied by half-torn parchment paper. Christmas break was an odd time for Eleanor, particularly this year. The home she once found such comfort in was changed. Certainly, the decorations were in abundance, carols sung out of every portrait, and even the odd bustle of mistletoe hung in doorways. Yet all this cheer was accompanied by her mother's coughing fits, the removal of all mirrors, so she couldn't see how ghastly white and hollow her face looked, and the way her father trailed behind her every move, expecting her to collapse any moment. The doctor gave her six months; Eleanor believed that was an optimistic estimate. When summer break came, she didn't expect to have a mother any longer.

Tossing herself down upon the bed, a few books sliding off the side with a thud, Eleanor glanced up at the ceiling. Five years ago, her mother took her aside one evening and informed her she was sick. At the time, it was nothing more than a chest-cold, followed by a worsening illness, followed by weeks in Mungo's, followed by a death-sentence. Every morning, Eleanor convinced herself that she was ready, that when it came time to bid farewell to her mother, she wouldn't shed a tear. Yet every night, lying alone in the dark, distinctly aware of how lonely the world was, she knew that was lie. Her heart was breaking with each day her mother's illness worsened and it would quite possibly never heal again. Yet there were dozens of women below who felt there was nothing more important to discuss than the potential advantageous marriage of their young daughters.

Four days - then she'd be back in the Slytherin common room with her four poster bed, bothersome yet loveable roommates, and the distraction of classes. Before that, though, she'd have to say goodbye to her mother and try to pretend that they both knew it wasn't for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a repost of a story I've been updating on another site. There will be slight edits as I go along, since it's been over a year since I first began it. This will be updated in tandem with the other site.


	2. a true brother

Rabastan was still awake when his parents came home from the Fairfax soiree. For the last hour he'd been watching the moonlight slowly drift across the ceiling of his bedroom, becoming nothing more than a sliver against the far corner. Closing his eyes, he listened to the soft murmurs of his parents voices and the click of their shoes against the wooden staircase. They turned left at the top of the stairs, walking past his bedroom, toward their own at the end of the wing. For a brief moment, he thought his father paused outside the doorway, just long enough for his breath to hitch painfully. When he heard them pass by without a slight hesitation, Rabastan tossed his arm across his eyes and rolled onto his stomach. He laid there until a restless sleep finally overtook him.

The next morning was difficult for Rabastan, particularly when his brother insisted on waking up far earlier than necessary by unceremoniously ripping off his blankets. "What the bloody hell was that for?" Rabastan asked, his voice soft and groggy, eyes heavy as he looked over at him.

"What happened to you last night? You disappeared after dinner," he said, making Rabastan wonder whether there was even a question mixed into that statement.

"I finished my schoolwork, which I presume you haven't even started yet?"

"Rabastan, sometimes I worry about you - perhaps you truly were adopted. I can think of no other reason why you would have this fascination with actually finishing your schoolwork over Christmas Break," he said, leaning backward against the doorway. In that moment, his brother looked precisely like their father, dark eyes, broad shoulders, and high cheekbones and Rabastan felt the deep the instantaneous boiling sensation in his stomach. Ignoring the overwhelming sensation, he took in a deep breath, kicked off the rest of the blankets, stood and disappeared into the closet.

"Some of us would like to pass our O.W.L.S with more than Acceptable," Rabastan said while he began to change into his clothes. "I imagine you'll force one of the younger students to finish it for you?" He asked, emerging a moment later impeccably dressed, though his hair, which had adopted his mother's curl, was still wild and tangled.

"Without a doubt," Rodolphus responded absently while rifling through the letters on Rabastan's desk. "I'm going to the Malfoy's, you joining? I hear the lovely Black ladies may be there," he said with with a half-smirk.

"Is that why you woke me up?"

"Actually no, Father requested your presence in his study. Considering you left quite abruptly last night after a similar discussion with him, I presumed you'd rather avoid it at all costs," Rodolphus said, lifting up an ink bottle to examine its contents. Rabastan was silent, though he'd walked over toward the mirror and was attempting to smooth his hair down. "Was I correct?"

"Partially - at least the portion about yesterday evening. I will not, however, run away to Lucius' house."

"A pity. It will be far more diverting."

"I have no doubt, however, if Father beckons…" He finally turned back around and settled his gaze on Rodolphus, who was looking at him rather severely. "Enjoy the Black sisters for me," Rabastan said and was relieved to see the hint of smile on his brother's face. Moving past him with no further words, he walked straight down the hallway to the staircase, his feet moving out of sheer muscle-memory, since his mind was willing him to walk the opposite direction and join Rodolphus on a merry jaunt to the Malfoy's. Instead, he found himself pausing outside the double doors of his father's study and knocking.

"Enter."

Turning the handle, Rabastan pushed open the door and stepped inside. The walls were a forest green, complemented by dark mahogany, gold accents, and a large fire. An entire wall was lined with leather-bound books, the smell of their aged parchment pervasive. Rabastan kept his eyes on the floor, until his father coughed from behind his desk, a not-so-subtle request for him to look up. "You summoned me," he said, his tone formal, arms clasped behind his back.

"Yes, I did. Stand straight, Rabastan. Stop acting like a timid woman," he said while standing and walking to the bookshelf. "You left dinner quite early last night after our conversation."

Consciously pulling back his shoulders so that his back ached with the pain of standing taller, Rabastan was tempted to remain silent considering his father still had not asked him a single question, however, he knew that was unwise. "I did. I returned to my room to complete my schoolwork."

"I hope I will see the effects of this extra studying when your O.W.L scores arrives," he said, returning another book to the shelf with a dull thud. He never looked at Rabastan while he spoke, as if his own son was not worth his full attention.

"Father, I was hoping to visit the Malfoy Manor with Rodolphus…"

"We never completed our conversation regarding your future." His father interrupted, though Rabastan half expected it. It seemed his father never truly wanted to hear a complete sentence from his youngest son.

"I do not have anything else to add to our conversation. It seemed quite settled, yesterday," Rabastan said, the calm tone of his voice a distinct contrast to the twitching of his fingers behind his back.

"I expect you to live up to the expectations of this family name. Being a Lestrange was never intended to be simple. You are privileged enough to be a member of one of the oldest and strongest Pure Blood families in England, yet you treat our name as if it's no more than the name of a bloody house elf." Toward the end of this tirade, his father's voice reached a level that would shake any poor soul. After years of experiencing these moments of fatherly-love, Rabastan simply knew to stare back coldly, wondering why this man cared so little about him. Rodolphus once tried to convince him these conversations were a result of their father's love, that it was a way for him to try and share his wisdom. Rabastan had simply nodded, yet he wasn't naive enough to believe it.

"I know, father."

"I simply don't understand you Rabastan." His voice was strained and he had finally turned to look at him directly, his pupils dilated as they searched his son's face.

"I know, father."

"When you return to Hogwarts, you must remember what your place in society is. You must be a Lestrage. Are you listening to me Rabastan? You just," he paused, his breath shallow as he took a few steps forward. "Just - you're dismissed," he said eventually, waving his hand as if Rabastan were nothing more than an animal. Rabastan half-bowed while backing away toward the door. He fumbled with the handle for a moment before pushing it back open and escaping into the hallway. Gasping in a long breath, he held it until his eyes watered and lungs burned. With a turn, he rested both hands against the wall, leaning his weight against it, letting his head lull forward until the blood stopped pounding.

"Are you coming?" He heard Rodolphus say from around the corner. Lifting his head, Rabastan slowly looked at him. Staring at each other, neither of them said a word, though Rabastan saw the creases on Rodolphus' forehead and the way he glanced at the double doors as if with a curse.

"Yes, let me just grab my coat," he finally said with a simple, yet grateful, nod.


	3. easy to judge

After returning to Hogwarts, it always took Eleanor a few nights to fully acclimate to being in the Slytherin dungeons. Morning was the oddest time; instead of sunlight streaming through windows, she was woken to the lighting of the lamps by the house elves (though she'd yet to actually see one of them). Narcissa Black slept next to Eleanor and was nearly always the first awake, bustling about in preparation for the day, making all types of noise, uncaring that her housemates were still resting. Dorcas was always the last to wake and even then, she remained groggy and irritated until the lunch hour, particularly toward Narcissa, who she blamed for her lack of beauty sleep.

"Eleanor, I can tell you're awake," Narcissa said while examining her nose in the mirror. "We have Transfiguration and it would be nice to actually enjoy breakfast this morning."

"I resent that remark," said a half-yawning Dorcas as she sat up and glanced around. "I know that is directed at me and I don't appreciate it." Narcissa said nothing in reply, simply lifted an eyebrow and went back to pinching her cheeks. "Why is it that the pretty one takes the longest to get ready in the morning?"

"I would say I take the appropriate amount of time to get ready in the morning and it's you that is quite delinquent in your feminine hygiene," Narcissa said.

"Do you need to use words like feminine hygiene this early in the morning? Beside, I don't think that's exactly what you mean to say," Dorcas said, winking at Eleanor who just smiled and shook her head.

"Nevertheless, I know Eleanor agrees with me," Narcissa said with a sniff as she closed the bathroom door, shutting their responses out.

"Morning to you, too, sunshine," Dorcas murmured to herself, but there was a definite smirk on her face as she stood up and stretched. Dorcas reminded Eleanor of a cat; constantly curled up in blankets, fond of cuddling, stretching her limbs and half-purring as she did so. Narcissa, however, was the Queen Bee (though the resemblance to the insect stopped there). Eleanor had not been surprised when Narcissa took control of their Slytherin tribe, it seemed almost expected, considering her lineage and social status. Eleanor wasn't certain what role she played. As an only child, she wasn't accustomed to having a group, so analyzing how she fit into the structure was almost unimaginable. Narcissa once joked Eleanor was the secret keeper of the group, the one others turned to with their darkest thoughts, with the words that they couldn't utter to anyone else. Eleanor simply rolled her eyes, yet the words warmed her, the need to be wanted undeniable.

Rising from her bed, Eleanor grabbed her uniform out of the trunk and began to change in unison with Dorcas. By the time they were dressed, Narcissa had returned to their common area and was situating her books inside a leather tote, leaving the bathroom to the two of them.

"I heard quite a rumor over Christmas break," Narcissa said quietly, her eyes glancing around the dorm to be certain their other housemates, Samantha and Marcie, were at breakfast. Dorcas didn't respond, though Eleanor caught her sideways glance in the mirror, as they both silently shared an internal chuckle over Narcissa's penchant for gossip.

"Yes, what did you hear?" Eleanor asked, shrugging silently at the aghast expression on Dorcas' face.

"Alecto Carrow is attempting to marry one of the Lestranges," she said, covering her mouth as a small fit of giggles escaped. "A Lestrange, can you imagine? What must have given her mother the idea that her daughter was capable of catching one of a son from one of the oldest pureblood lineages in Europe? It's absolutely laughable."

"Narcissa, your jealousy is glowing again. I swear your hair is an entire shade lighter," Dorcas said, laughing.

"It is not - and I am not jealous," she said, lower lip jutting out in the familiar way that indicated a lie. "What do you think, Eleanor?"

"I don't think we can rightly blame Mrs. Carrow for trying to have her daughter marry well, do you?"

"Oh come off it, Ellie - you're just saying that to be nice and in turn making me feel like a callous ogre," Narcissa said while crossing her arms.

"Is being nice such a terrible thing?" Eleanor asked, before dodging a pinch from Dorcas.

"In this case, yes. You know it's absolutely ridiculous that Alecto would even think either Rodolphus or Rabastan would give her a second glance."

"Narcissa-" Dorcas started, her eyes watching Eleanor closely with concern.

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Eleanor felt the tiny thread of sanity ripping apart as she spun around to look at her friend. "Don't you get it? I'm exactly like Alecto. I'm pureblood, certainly, but we all aren't from the Black Family, we all won't be able to marry well like you Cissa. So no, I don't blame Alecto's mother for trying to marry her to a Lestrange. I don't find it funny, I find it tragic. Alecto is lucky - because I won't have a mother to try and pair me together with a nice boy from a good pureblood family. I'll most likely be forced to marry a disgusting man like Snape or Wilkes. I'd be lucky if either Lestrange even acknowledged my existence."

Narcissa simply watched silently, her lips opening and closing a dozen times, perhaps swallowing the words she wanted to speak. Dorcas was quiet, too, though she let her hand gently graze Eleanor's shoulder as she walked out of the bathroom. Not wanting to wait for Narcissa to respond, she followed Dorcas out and grabbed her books from the bed. Without a word, she escaped through the dormitory door and walked into the Slytherin Common Room. Unprepared for the bustle before the first class, she was caught in a steady stream of students heading toward the exit. A few attempted to wave at her, but with her mind distracted on other things, including the overwhelming sensation, she barely even acknowledged them. Hugging her books tighter to her chest, she simply followed the crowd and emerged into the corridor. Transfiguration was a short walk, so she took a longer route, arriving just moments before class was to begin.

Both Narcissa and Dorcas were there already. Dorcas was seated next to Regulus Black, her normal partner. Narcissa was alone, the seat beside her normally saved for Eleanor. For a moment, she considered finding another spot; she wasn't certain she could say another word to Narcissa today without the aggravation erupting again. But she swallowed her emotions, straightened her back, and walked toward her stool. She sat silently, putting her books down on the desk gently and focusing on McGonagall who sat behind the desk scribble on a piece of parchment.

"I won't let you marry Snape or Wilkes."

"What?" Eleanor said, not expecting Narcissa to address her, let alone with those words.

"I will make sure you marry well, Ellie. You aren't going to be alone after your mother passes. You have me, and Dorcas. Though, I wouldn't take her recommendations on future husbands," she said softly. "It will be alright."

Eleanor swallowed the growing lump in her throat and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. She simply nodded her head and opened her book the page written on the blackboard, trying to not to concentrate on the painful thudding of her heart.


	4. an introduction

Rabastan normally spent his evenings in the library, with nothing more than a large stack of books, parchment, and quills for company. It was how he preferred it - let Rodolphus be the social Lestrange, he was far more charming anyways. Augustus Rookwood tended to be the most vocal complainer, though, always insisting there were plenty of other diversions in the world than a slew of dead wizards and their egocentric books.

Tonight, however, he was taking Augustus' advice and engaging with the opposite sex. Granted, he didn't think his best mate intended him to exchange the books for a snogging session with Alecto Carrow in an empty classroom.

Currently she was backed up against a desk, her legs slowly inching wider so they could ultimately wrap securely around his waist. Their chests were flush against each other and Rabastan could feel every time she took a breath in between kisses. He felt overheated with her body wrapped around his, as if he were standing too close to a fire and needed to step away. But her arms around his shoulders made that nearly impossible.

Alecto was a decent kisser, not that Rabstan had much firsthand experience, but he found her lips slightly chapped and the small sounds she made while sliding her lips over his were beginning to grate on his nerves. He kept his hands firmly planted on the outside of her thighs, though she seemed rather intent on sliding them up her skirts. Rabastan was rather oblivious to her attempts, though. While physically present, his mind was beginning to wander. First to his schoolwork, a quick review of the charms they'd learned today then a quick checklist of the potential topics on next week's transfiguration class, finally followed by the replaying of a conversation he'd overheard that morning between Rodolphus and Lucius regarding an old schoolmate of Rabastan's father who was seeking an introduction to them upon graduation.

"Rabastan, are you intending to actually kiss me?" Alecto asked, her voice disrupting his thoughts and painfully dragging him back to the present.

"I'm sorry," he said, though a bit uncertain why he felt the need to apologize.

With a sigh that bordered on reluctant, he leaned back in and pressed his lips to hers. As if to prove that his distraction was not an indication of boredom, Alecto slid her hand up his shirt and grazed her fingers over his lower abdomen. Rabastan's first instinct was to jolt backward, but her other hand was now locked tightly in his hair.

"Oi, Rabastan -" said a voice from the other side of the sealed doorway. "I'm coming in." Without a moment's hesitation, the door swung open and Augustus Rookwood strolled in, leaving them no time extricate their bodies from the rather embarrassing position.

"Augustus, can't you see we're busy?" Alecto said, the disdainful look giving her face a harsh, unpleasant expression.

"Alas, my dear Alecto, I truly could care less," Augustus responded cooly, his face impassive.

"What do you want, Auggie?" Rabastan asked to fill the silence that followed. He used Alecto's sudden distraction to disentangle their limbs and take a step backward. He was certain he looked quite rumpled - shirt untucked, hair in disarray, lips a bright red - and he nervously tried to fix his person. He never intended for anyone to know about this brief foray in the classroom, though he supposed Augustus should be the least of his concerns, considering Alecto's tendency to gossip.

"That blush quite suits you, my friend," Augustus said with a deep chuckle before continuing, "I have something of the utmost importance to discuss and while I loathe to tear you away from an actual attempt to socialize, it's importance far exceeds that of fulfilling the desires of your teenage hormones." Apparently rather impatient, Augustus reached out and grabbed Augustus' arm, giving it a sharp tug as he led him into and down the hallway, distancing them from the door. "Of all the girls in this school, you chose her?" He started, eyebrow lifted. "I could have introduced you to a number of lovely young Ravenclaws who wouldn't use this as a way to get a bloody ring on their finger."

"You wanted something, Augustus?" Rabastan responded, as if he'd not heard a word his friend spoke.

"This is important, too, Rabastan."

"It was simply a kiss."

"To you, perhaps, but by morning an owl will be waiting at the Carrow residence describing, in excessive detail, how you had Alecto in an empty classroom. How did that even start? Did she steal one of your library books and hold it hostage until you kissed her?" Augustus asked, laughing as they continued down the corridor.

"No, certainly not. And it meant nothing. If she thinks anything different, it's to her own detriment," Rabastan said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, shoulders slightly hunched as they made their way back to the Slytherin dungeons.

"But why? Why her?"

"Just get on with it, what is it you need, Augustus?" Rabastan said. While he kept a tone of frustration, he was actually quite grateful to his friend for interrupting their interlude in the classroom.

Sighing, perhaps accepting that Rabastan refused to discuss his night with Alecto, Augustus spun around, so he was walking backward directly in front of Rabastan. "Earlier - Lucius and Rodolphus were discussing a man your father wants them to meet."

"Yes, what of it?" Rabastan said, a bit too quickly.

"I want an introduction. You need to ask your father for me."

"What?" He said back, halting in the corridor to look directly at Augustus? "An introduction?"

"Yes, come off it, you heard me quite clearly," Augustus said, putting his hands on Rabastan's shoulders. Glancing behind himself, Augustus used his physical leverage to redirect them to the left, into a private alcove behind a statue, covering them in the darkness. "I want an introduction to Lord Voldemort."

Rabastan simply stared at him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness until he could make out the curve of Augustus' cheeks and the bright white of his eyes. "Augustus-" He began, then paused, uncertain what words to continue with. The conversation he overheard that morning had been brief, just a simple one between two friends, yet it'd left Rabastan feeling off kilter. Although Lucius and Rodolphus were going to graduate in just a few short months and it was natural for them to consider their next steps, Rabastan inevitably felt as if the world were moving on without him. He knew very little of Lord Voldemort, except that he'd been a school friend of their father. While he went by a different name at the time, Rabastan knew of his reputation as a powerful dark wizard, something to be admired and abhorred simultaneously. Yet it seemed their father was intent on introducing only one of his sons to this Lord Voldemort.

"Rabastan, stop. I know what you're going to say, I know precisely what you're thinking and I won't accept it," Augustus said suddenly.

"Then tell me, what am I thinking?"

"Just ask your bloody father, he's not going to say no, despite whatever issues you seem to have with him."

"Issues -" Rabastan said, shoving Augustus' hands off his shoulders with an almost betrayed expression.

"Just ask him."

"For your sake?"

"No, for your own. I know you, I know you want to be introduced, that it's killing you that he chose Malfoy over you, but I'm not letting you just lie down and accept it. For both your sake and my own," he countered, grabbing Rabastan's shoulders again, this time with more force and pressure. "Admit it, you want to meet him."

"Of course I do!" Rabastan burst out, disregarding their attempt to whisper. "After fifteen years, though, I expect nothing less from my father. It seems almost fitting that he would disregard whatever worth I offer and find a replacement son. It seems this week, it's Lucius Malfoy. There's a reason he didn't mention me in his letter to Rodolphus. It would have been simple to include both of us. 'I want to introduce you, Rabastan, and Lucius to a friend of mine'" he mimicked, swatting away Augustus' hands yet again. "Leaving only one logical explanation - he didn't include me for a reason - even if you believe it's an unconscious omission. He's embarrassed by me, always has been."

"Than what do you have to lose?"

"What little self-respect I have left."

"Self-respect is called that for a reason, Rabastan. You create it yourself, it's not something given to you by another. Your father is an arse. If he doesn't see the potential in you, than he's a fool. But he's not the one who will be missing out if you remain silent, only you'll suffer for that."

"Stop, stop," Rabastan said, head swirling, heart pulsing. He felt lightheaded, as if he'd been drinking firewhiskey, though he was completely sober. "Why are you so desperate for an introduction?"

"Because I believe. Can't you see it? Out there," Augustus said, gesturing beyond their dark alcove. "We're dismissed as ancient, archaic families, a relic even. The importance of our world is dwindling. Our values are gone, replaced by the open-minded, fucked-up views of the dirty mudbloods. They'll have us living in the bloody suburbs with the muggles if we don't stop them," Augustus said, leaning backward against the stone wall. His voice was seething, his eyes passionate, though there was a calm logic to his monologue. "Please Rabastan."

Rabastan paused as he considered his friend. He knew their way of life was declining, that by the end of their generation, the pureblood families could disappear altogether. Yet the notion of approaching his father, even with such a simple request, left a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Thinking about it, he suddenly felt dirty, the lingering sensation of Alecto's hands covering his body, like spiders crawling over him. Augustus was one of his closest friends and he was begging him, yet he was tempted to decline out of sheer fear. Perhaps this was why his father loathed him and why the Dark Lord seemed uninterested in the second son. "Fine, Augustus, fine," he said softly. "I'll ask him when I see him next, does that suffice?"

"I promise - you won't regret this," he said gently, carefully, knowing it would be easy for Rabastan to change his mind. "He will change our lives."

Rabastan said nothing, simply nodded. "To bed, I think."

"So Alecto Carrow - " Augustus chuckled as they turned out of the alcove and back into the abandoned corridor, speaking as if completely unaware he'd changed their fates in the span of one conversation. Rabastan knew though; there was no turning away from this decision.


	5. a bit hasty

Eleanor's mother died late afternoon on an otherwise inconsequential Tuesday in March. She would have liked to think that when her mother drew her last breath, she'd feel it - a subtle clench of the heart, a skipped breath, anything. Eleanor was entirely unaware, however, until Slughorn came bustling into the Library calling for Madame Pince, who hushed him quite severely. His voice disrupted her own focus on a rather heinous History of Magic essay and Eleanor lifted her head to glance around, surprised to find that the library was practically abandoned. Nearly all the desks were empty, except for another student across the room, huddled beneath a lamp. It took only a momentary squint to recognize Augustus Rookwood, who was furiously scribbling on his parchment, as if possessed.

"Miss Fairfax," Slughorn suddenly said behind her. Jumping slightly, she turned toward him and swallowed. Despite the fact she was quite convinced she did nothing to merit a stern talking to, she felt herself cataloging every moment of the day to try and identify why her head of house was currently talking to her. "If you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you in my office."

"Yes-yes, sir," she said, knowing full well there was no other option. "Let me just-I'll-" she started, trying to gracefully gather up her books and parchment without drawing undue attention to herself. Unfortunately, considering there were only four people in the library, she knew that was highly unlikely. When her items were finally placed inside her satchel, she cast a final glance at Madame Pince, who was wiping her deyes with a lace handkerchief, then over to Augustus, who seemed to have noticed the hubbub and was watching her with an almost curious fascination.

Once standing, Slughorn placed a hand on her shoulder and began directing them out of the library toward his office. He was silent the entire walk, leaving no sound except the echo of their shoes. In the silence, Eleanor's minded continued her analysis of the day to find where she'd erred. Had she been impertinent in Potions? Argumentative in Transfiguration? Was her permission slip for Hogsmeade incomplete?

It only took until they reached the staircase for her to realize why she was being summoned. She paused without thinking, reaching out to steady herself on the bannister. Perhaps understanding that she'd pieced together the puzzle, Slughorn moved his arm around her shoulders in a fatherly way and effectively hoisted her up the remainder of the stairs to his office.

It was dark at first, though she found her way to a seat without much difficulty. Slughorn used his wand to light the lamps lining the walls and settled into his own seat behind the large wooden desk. "Unfortunately," he began, but paused. Eleanor almost wanted to tell him she knew, so she didn't have to actually hear the words strung together. He continued before she could gather the nerve to say anything, though. "I'm very sorry to say, we received word this evening that your mother has passed."

Hearing the words was quite different than simply thinking them. Suddenly the world was a combination of feelings, rather than thoughts: burning lungs from holding her breath, shivers from the goosebumps, throbbing from the combination of dilated pupils and lamplight, shaking hands from the shock, stinging from the tears behind her eyes.

"Miss Fairfax," Slughorn said, reaching out and taking her hand into his with a subtle squeeze.

"When - when is the funeral?" she finally asked, her voice cracking, sounding rather unlike herself.

"Miss Fairfax..."

"When is the funeral?" she asked again, with far more force behind the words.

"We've been instructed by your father that he isn't, that he won't, that you are to remain here at Hogwarts."

"But Sir," Eleanor said, finally lifting her eyes away from the table. Suddenly her entire body felt taut, like a bow being pulled back with an arrow. Half lifting herself from the chair, shoulders straightening painfully, she reached forward and took hold of Slughorn's wrist. "I need to be there. It's my mother's funeral, it's-it's important I'm there."

"I apologize. Even as your Head of House, I don't have the authority to disregard your father's wishes."

"Then let me talk to him."

"I will gladly make sure an owl is sent to him."

"An owl is too slow. He needs to come here, to speak to me," Eleanor said, the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, her hands shaking.

"He was quite clear that you are to remain here, Miss Fairfax. I apologize for having to be the one to inform you of this. I am also very sorry to hear of the passing of your mother. I recall her being an intelligent, gifted witch, and the world will certainly miss her."

Eleanor didn't wait to hear the rest of his praise. Without even an apology, she pushed back the chair, which screeched against the stone floor, grabbed her satchel, and ran toward the office door. Reaching out, she turned the handle, only to find that the door refused to budge. With a dry dob, she jostled the handle furiously, refusing to burst into tears in her professor's office. Using her entire body weight and the leverage of her knee against the door frame, she finally tugged it open and burst into the corridor with a gasp.

Slamming the door behind her, she began racing down the corridor immediately. The first hallway turned into the second turned into the third, Eleanor's feet leading her through the castle with no care as to their final destination. Any thoughts of going to the Dungeons were quickly dismissed. The library was now closed. The kitchens would be swarming with House Elves and Hufflepuffs, and Eleanor did not want company. It was only as she passed the Astronomy Tower that she slowed, glancing up the staircase cautiously. It was a notorious spot for late-night trysts, or even a midnight class, yet Eleanor only hesitated a moment before taking the stairs two at a time.

It was was empty. And refreshingly cool. Eleanor went straight to the window, resting her stomach against it and leaning out into the night air. A fog had settled over the grounds and she could barely see the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the lawn. She remained there, half teetering out the window, until her face was damp and her ribs ached from the pressure. Pulling her body back inside, she turned and slid down the wall until she was seated on the floor, legs bent up against her chest, arms wrapped around them.

Closing her eyes, Eleanor listened to the silence, which was cavernous and all-consuming. She remained frozen there, moving only when she felt warm tears soaking her shirt, and even then, it was only to rest her forehead down upon her knee. Her mother was gone. No amount of time, no amount of goodbyes, could have prepared her for the jolting realization that there would be no more motherly advice, no more kisses on her temple, no more warm hugs at school break. A void was opening in her heart, spreading wider with each memory of sunset strolls, tea-times in the garden, dancing by the fire. Clenching her eyes tighter, holding the hem of her skirt until both hands ached, she forcefully pushed the memories out of her mind and then imagined filing them away in the deepest recesses of her mind, like the restricted section of the library.

"He's not coming."

Whatever calm Eleanor found during her mental exercise erased with a gasp. Practically leaping off the floor, she ended up half-sprawled across it instead, glancing up at Rabastan Lestrange, who loomed above her. With shaking hands, she pushed herself up onto her knees, then to her feet, trying to quiet the deafening rush of blood in her head.

"Excuse me?"

"Rosier isn't coming. I just sent him back to the Common Room, with a detention of course. Found him at the bottom of the tower. He looked quite eager to get up here," he said while crossing his arms, as if finding the entire conversation tedious.

"I-That-What?" Eleanor asked, her eyebrows drawn together. Still hidden in the shadows, she used the moment to wipe away the remainder of her tears and sop up the moisture on her shirt. Her head was spinning, a combination of lingering grief and utter confusion. "I wasn't waiting for-" she began, but Rabastan spun around and walked toward the window, disrupting her train of thought.

"You're out of bed past curfew, punishable with detention, which you can serve in the Trophy Room. I gave Rosier a stint in the Herbology classroom, so you may thank me later. Though I have to say, I find it quite deplorable that two Slytherins are out of bed tonight. I expect this out of the Gryffindors, not my own house." The sound he made in his throat following his speech vaguely resembled a noise her nanny used to make when she was a young girl and Eleanor felt goosebumps instantly rise on her arms. It was the sound of disappointment and was usually followed with I expected better of you. Yet Rabastan Lestrange didn't know her. She'd spoken to him perhaps once or twice, only when she'd been with Narcissa, as it seemed her existence was not worth noting otherwise.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's my name? You know, it's the thing that people generally go by, what their friends call them. Even Professors use it, you should try it sometime."

Rabastan turned away from the window at her little tirade, stepping closer until she was no longer shielded by the shadows. He studied her face for a moment then, clearly trying to place her amongst his classmates. "Margaret," he finally said, nodding his head firmly.

"Not even close. It's Eleanor, Eleanor Fairfax. And you, Rabastan Lestrange, are an utter arse, do you know that?" He looked shocked at her words, granted, even Eleanor herself was surprised to hear them. Dusting off her skirt, she reached down to gather up her books. Rabastan seemed to take note of her appearance, as he looked nothing short of perplexed when Eleanor looked back at him. For a moment she simply stared at him, letting her eyes rom from the top of his head down his chest. Until this evening, she'd always thought him an attractive man - sharp cheekbones, curly hair, full lips, broad shoulders. Tonight, his face looked haughty and egotistical, full of Pureblood arrogance.

"The fact that you would think - that you believe I was here-" Eleanor tried to say, but her emotions stopped the words, choking them back until she was gasping for air. There was a slew angry words she wanted to throw at him, he even seemed to expect it, yet she stood there like a fish, mouth opening and closing as her forehead wrinkled and eyes squinted with tears. Before he could fill the silence, Eleanor turned and ran out of the astronomy classroom, not caring that at this speed she was likely to trip on the stairs going down. She didn't stop even as she reached the Dungeons, ran past her friends in the common room, burst through their dormitory door, and catapulted herself onto the bed. Grabbing her pillow, she barely had a spare moment to bury her face in it before the torrent of tears began spilling out.


	6. pride & polish

Rabastan didn't realize anything was out of sorts until a fourth-year girl literally kicked him under the lunch table. When he looked at her, expecting an apology, she simply lifted her eyebrow and followed it up with a rather rude and abrasive gesture that was certainly not appropriate in the Great Hall. He later found out that the rather large bruise was courtesy of one Dorcas Meadowes. Her behavior was only reiterated by Narcissa Black, whom Rabastan liked to consider a friend. When he walked over to speak with her in the Common Room, she huffed, spun around, and walked straight into the girl's dormitory without so much as a word.

To make matters worse, none of his usual gossip sources (generally limited to the sixth year girls and a few select fifth years) were privy to whatever travesty he committed. Meanwhile Alecto seemed intent on continuing their engagement from the previous week and was overly curious why two eligible young women were not speaking to him, though perhaps the curiosity was more akin to jealousy. He chose not to analyze the situation too closely. Frustrated, Rabastan turned to the only remaining option: Augustus. Setting Augustus loose to ferret out the truth was dangerous. His friend was overly talented at not only unearthing the truth, but discovering the darker secrets hidden in the Hogwarts walls. He'd learned the hard way that some of those stones were better left unturned, though.

It was a chilly spring night when Augustus approached Rabastan with information. The fire was blazing in the dungeon and Rabastan was lounging in one of the chairs nearest it, studying a rather ghastly book on Potions. Augustus approached quietly, clearing his throat casually. Lifting his eyes slowly over the top of the book, Rabastan thought his friend looked far too smug.

"You look like cat who just got into the cream," Rabastan said coolly, putting his eyes back down on the page and running his finger along the instructions to try and understand why his cauldron melted that morning.

"Maybe I just did," Augustus said, sitting down with a grin. "I figured out what's causing your girl troubles."

"I don't have girl troubles, Augustus, I have two bothersome fourth-years that are ignoring and attacking me simultaneously. I'd simply like to know why."

"Even if we ignored those two, you still have girl-troubles, mate. Alecto keeps looking across the room and licking her lips. I told you fooling around with her was a terrible idea."

"So you said."

"Will you put that book down and actually pay attention?"

Rabastan sighed, finished the end of the sentence, and closed it with a thud. "You said you know why Narcissa and that other girl are pestering me?"

"You, my friend, are a fucking arse," Augustus said with a large grin.

"I've been told that before."

"Do you recall having a rather intriguing conversation with a fourth-year by the name of Eleanor Fairfax?"

"Eleanor Fairfax?" Rabastan repeated back, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to recall a particular incident.

"You gave her a detention in the Astronomy Tower, or so I've been told."

"Ah yes, she was waiting for Rosier. And was out of bed past curfew, I might add," Rabastan said, unintrigued by this information. A detention didn't seem worth a bruise on his shin and the cold-shoulder from a friend.

"Well, it turns out you've got the story all wrong," Augustus said, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"You really should start a knitting circle, your love of gossip is grotesque," Rabastan said, then waited. When his friend didn't continue, but instead gave him a peeved expression, he sighed. "Why the hell was she in the Astronomy Tower past curfew then, hm? And why was Rosier standing there at the bottom nervously?"

"Well, Rosier was out of bed past curfew and he was intending to meet someone of the female variety. Thought their tryst was planned for the broom cupboard right next to the Astronomy Tower. Where your mistake starts is with Miss Fairfax. It seems that she wasn't in fact waiting for Rosier."

"I've gathered as much."

"It turns out she was in the Astronomy Tower crying her eyes out after Slughorn gave her the rather depressing news that her mother had passed away that afternoon."

"Excuse me?" Rabastan said, his boredom suddenly quite gone, his attention finally on Augustus.

"You heard me. You gave detention to a poor girl who was in the Astronomy Tower to cry about the fact that her Mum died. Which basically, as I said, makes you a fucking arse."

Rabastan was silent for a moment, thumbing his fingers along the gilded edges of his Potions book. "So it would seem I am quite an arse," he said quietly, more to himself, clearly not as amused by the truth as Augustus was.

"Yes, it would. I also managed to get out some additional information regarding you being an egotistical, judgmental prick who thinks too highly of himself." Rabastan said nothing, simply looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. Augustus half smiled and shrugged, "But that's just the opinion of a few fourth-years, so who the hell cares. You need anything else or should I let you brood over your Potions book again?"

"When was her detention?"

"Tomorrow, Trophy Room."

"Thanks, Augustus," Rabastan said while turning his attention back to the book, which he opened slowly and began to read again. This time, though, as he reviewed the spells, his brain seemed to comprehend the words individually, but strung together in a sentence, he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Rabastan spent the rest of the evening pretending to be studying, while actually trying to replay that night in his head. The detention was deserved, he reminded himself. Despite the passing of her mother, she'd been out of bed past curfew. His insinuation that she'd been waiting for Rosier was unfortunate, but he didn't remember being too misogynistic. There had been that moment where he'd thought her name was Margaret, but truly, they were a year apart, why would he know who she was? It wasn't a valid excuse, he realized, but it left his mind clear enough that he could fall asleep that night without much issue.

The next day passed quite uneventfully until dinner, when he watched out of the corner of his eye as Eleanor rose up from the table and began her trek to the Trophy Room. Part of Rabastan wished he could snag her attention just long enough to look apologetic. Her eyes remained on the floor, though, and Rabastan simply watched her walk out, trying not to overanalyze the sadness in her expression. Turning back to his dinner, he ate a few more bites before realizing that everything tasted sour. Gritting his teeth, he practically slammed his goblet of water onto the table before turning and standing up. A few eyes glanced at him, perhaps curious why the generally graceful Rabastan was suddenly rather loud and brusque, however, he ignored them all.

Without even considering how unwelcome he may be, Rabastan followed Eleanor's path to the Trophy Room. He hesitated at the doorway, rethinking his rash decision, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. It took a moment to find her amidst the trophies and plaques. She was in the back, trying to sort through a container of rags and polish. Rabastan moved toward her slowly and with each step he realized how absurd he was behaving. Chasing after a fourth-year girl into the Trophy Room? He could only imagine what the whispers were at the Slytherin Table right now, which almost guaranteed a nice, long conversation with Alecto later.

"Eleanor?" He finally said, pausing a good distance away, hands clasped behind his back. Her head swiveled toward him at a speed that made his neck ache just watching.

"What do you want?"

Biting back the snide remarks that came to mind (and realizing with a groan that perhaps he truly was an arse), he gestured at the rags and shrugged. "I came to help. I found out why you were in the Astronomy Tower, and I, well, if I'd known I wouldn't have given you a detention."

"So you decide that cornering me in the Trophy Room and helping me polish is the best way to apologize?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, yes."

"You know, I tried to tell you why I was in the Astronomy Tower. But you kept insisting that I was out past curfew waiting to snog Rosier and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Is it a prerequisite before becoming a Prefect that you have to love the sound of your own voice?"

"Now listen - I came to apologize and help you clean the trophies. If I'm not welcome, than fine. But I'm simply trying to help and make amends."

"Why would I want help from someone who didn't even know who I was? You're doing this out of guilt, nothing more."

"I apologized for that."

"No, actually, you didn't."

"Then I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't know the name of some fourth-year girl that I've barely spoken three words to."

"And is that my fault? Every time you talk to Narcissa am I just invisible? When I'm seated near you at dinner, is there just a gaping hole along the table where my body is? I may not be a Black or a Lestrange, but I deserve to at least have your respect. Or at the very least, I deserve to not be invisible."

"Get off your soapbox - or should I call it your throne of pride, instead? Only you could be all high and mighty while surrounded by rags and polish. I came here to help because I realized I misjudged you the other night. It seems, however, that you're quite happy to willfully misjudge me. So don't lecture me, Miss Fairfax, before taking a look in the mirror yourself. I came here to apologize, which makes you the arse now." Before he could blink, Rabastan felt a rag smack him straight in the face, stinging slightly, before it fell at his feet.

"I don't want your help, Rabastan Lestrange."

"So it would seem."

Eleanor said nothing else to him, she simply turned, grabbed another rag, placed some polish on the edge and began to scrub one of the trophies in front of her. Rabastan watched her for a moment, a bit enthralled by the fervor behind her polishing. He presumed she was pretending that trophy was his face and she was somehow erasing him from existence. There was a subtle flush rising in her cheeks and dark hair was falling out of her ponytail; he was surprised to find it quite curly, like his own. He wondered what color her eyes were, but didn't dare say another word to try and get her attention. Truthfully, he wondered how he'd managed to overlook her for the last four years. He couldn't seem to stop watching her now.

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother," he eventually said, gently this time, trying to construe actual sympathy. He watched her pause and swallow, head bowing lower until it almost touched the trophy she was polishing. From this angle, he couldn't tell if she was crying, but he wanted to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, either way.

"Thank you," she finally said, the agitated voice from earlier suddenly weaker and choked up.

Rabastan nodded and didn't hesitate to turn and leave, deciding it was better to let them part on kind words, rather than their biting argument from earlier. There was quite a bit more he wanted to say to her, but doubted he'd ever have the chance. Eleanor Fairfax wanted nothing to do with him and there was no reason for him to seek her company again. While he could understand her contempt, he'd imagined this conversation ending quite differently. Turning left outside the Trophy Room, he continued back to the Common Room at a clipped pace. Opening the doorway with the password, he ignored the few friends who tried to get his attention, instead walking straight over to Augustus and sitting down beside him.

"You're right, I'm a bloody arse. But you know what, she's a bloody arse, too," Rabastan said.

"A match made in heaven, then" Augustus said without even looking up from his book, smirking silently.


End file.
